


i cannot wait (for you to come home)

by cosmic_kate



Series: Hades & Persephone AU [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jaha is Hermes if you squint, Jasper and Miller and Murphy are Cerberus, Octavia is obviously Artemis, the Hades and Persephone AU no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 11:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10189205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_kate/pseuds/cosmic_kate
Summary: When he was 23 years old, Bellamy traded his soul for the life of his sister.As it turns out, losing your soul isn’t that bad. Bellamy feels the same, physically, and his sister is very much alive. There isn’t much he can complain about the situation, except, you know, being stuck in the underworld for all of eternity.There is only darkness, though, where is soul used to be.Hades & Persephone AU





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really didn't want to romanticize the whole kidnapping thing that comes with the Hades/Persephone love story, so I took a lot of liberties with the mythology here. Hope you all like it :)
> 
> Also, title comes from She Is by The Fray.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated!

When he was 23 years old, Bellamy traded his soul for the life of his sister.

Octavia was always a sickly child, and his mother never had the means to get her proper care. After their mother died, Bellamy tried his best to take care of his sister—his responsibility—but it wasn’t enough. She was nearly dead when he was given a chance to plead his case to Jaha.

“Please,” Bellamy had begged from his knees at the altar, Octavia’s lifeless body hanging limp in his arms. “I’ll do anything.”

Bellamy knew Jaha was a trickster, a God who moved freely between worlds, quick and cunning, but he had no other options—Octavia’s pulse was fading quickly.

“There is a way,” Jaha had told him. “I can make Octavia an immortal, like me.”

“Do it.”

“In return, I will need something from you.”

“Anything,” he’d said.

Jaha considered this. “I’ll need your soul.”

As it turns out, losing your soul isn’t _that_ bad. Bellamy feels the same, physically, and his sister is very much alive. There isn’t much he can complain about the situation, except, you know, being stuck in the underworld for all of eternity.

Even Hades isn’t too bad, as far as living situations go. It’s a little dark and musty, sure, but it’s spacious, quiet, and his sister can visit him anytime. There’s plenty of food and drink, and while the departed souls used to be in a constant state of screaming, he’s become quite good at calming them. He also has Miller, Murphy, and Jasper—his personal guard.

There is only darkness, though, where is soul used to be.

 

For the first hundred or so years in Hades, Bellamy refused to see the Upperworld. He didn’t think there was a point, watching mortals and Gods alike through the tiny portal in his chambers if he could never leave the Underworld to see it for real.

After a while though, his stubbornness wears off. For the first time in hundreds of years, he sneaks a glance through the portal.

The first thing he sees is a girl in a field, her golden hair intricately braided into a crown on her head, and she’s dancing, or spinning, or _something_ , tiny blossoms blooming in her wake.

She looks like happiness, he thinks, and he remembers the feeling—when he held Octavia in his arms for the first time, when she took her first steps, when she shot her first arrow. It’s a foreign feeling, when he’s been trapped in the darkness for so long, but he still remembers it, looking at this girl.

Her eyes are exquisitely blue, her cheeks pink, her smile dazzling, and everything about her radiates light. It pulls at something inside of him.

It makes him feel weird to be watching her like this, without her knowledge, and he shakes his head, pulling himself out of her trance. He’s about the close the portal and never open it again, but then he sees the man.

There’s a dagger in his hand, and he raises it high as he approaches the girl from behind, and Bellamy should really close the portal because he doesn’t want to see this. He’ll see her soul in a few minutes anyway, he thinks.

But then the girl spins, knocks the dagger out of her assailant’s hand, and plunges it deep into his neck. He flounders as blood spills from the wound, and Bellamy hears the screams of his soul from down the hall.

The girl still stands over the body, breathing heavily, the beautiful blossoms she’d just created withering into blackness beneath her bare feet.

 

“You did _what_?” Bellamy roars, and he almost feels bad when Jasper flinches.

“We think it’s time you consider taking a wife,” Miller says. “So we brought her down here.”

Bellamy clenches his fists at his sides. “You didn’t _bring_ her here, Miller, you kidnapped her!” He may have given up his soul, but he still has morals.

Murphy opens his mouth. “I don’t understand the big deal, Boss, it’s not like she—“

With one hand, Bellamy slams Murphy into the wall. “The Underworld is not made for people like her,” he seethes, voice low and dangerous. “The Underworld is for people like us. People who have no soul.”

Murphy nods solemnly, and Bellamy lets him go, running a hand over his own face in exasperation. He turns, and she’s still there, desperately trying to open the door, but he knows it won’t budge—Hades doesn’t work like that.

When Octavia visits him, she comes at her own will, so she leaves at her own will. Abduction makes it a little trickier.

She turns to him, and her blue eyes lock onto his. “Please,” she begs. “Please let me go.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”

Her eyes narrow and her stance hardens. He sees a darkness in her, much like the day he saw her kill the man in the field. It pulls at something inside of him, a part of him he forgot existed.

He pushes it away.

He looks at Jasper, who’s sporting a black eye, no doubt from when they kidnapped her. “Show her to the guest room,” he tells the boy, and then he marches to his chambers.

 

 

When she tries to escape the next morning, Bellamy lets her. It’s no use, anyway, so he remains quietly on his throne while she bangs on the door.

She gives up after 40 minutes, and she sighs dejectedly, slumping against the cool metal. “Why won’t you let me leave?” she asks, sounding more tired than upset. “You clearly don’t want me here.”

He sighs and tilts his head to look at her. Her hair is still golden, but falling loose from her braid; her eyes are still blue, but her smile is turned into a frown.

“I don’t control Hades,” he says. “I just maintain it.”

She considers this. “Why won’t the Underworld let me leave?”

He shrugs. “Mortals can never leave, but you’re no mortal. Gods can come and go as they please, but you came here against your will.”

“What happens to those who are brought here against their will?” she asks, and he doesn’t miss the fear in her voice.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Technically, the souls don’t come willingly.”

“And they can never leave.” It’s not a question.

He swallows thickly.

“And you? Can you leave?”

He turns his head again to look at her, and her eyes bore into his. “No.”

She looks sad at this, and he isn’t sure if it’s because she’s trapped here or he is.

They sit in silence, the girl silently spinning flowers and vines through her fingers and Bellamy staring a hole in the wall in front of him, only moving when he turns to watch her out of the corner of his eye.

“What’s your name?” she asks after a while, never looking up from where she’s sprouted a tulip from her palm.

Bellamy can’t help but watch in awe as she plucks the flower and places it behind her ear. When she looks up, he feels a blush creep across his cheeks. “I’m Bellamy,” he says, once he’s regained his senses.

The corners of her lips turn up ever so slightly. “Clarke.”

She gets up and heads back to her room without a word, leaving Bellamy alone. He tests her name on his lips, and he hates that he likes the way it feels when it rolls off his tongue.

 

She stops trying to break the door down after a week, and it seems she’s resigned herself to the idea that she is, in fact, stuck down here. Bellamy, on the other hand, isn’t convinced.

It’s why he nearly loses his mind when he sees her lounging on the dais in his throne room, breaking open a pomegranate. He grabs her wrist and yanks her upright, spilling the pomegranate and its seeds onto the floor.

Her eyes are panicked. “I’m sorry, Bellamy, I—“

“Tell me you didn’t eat that,” he says, unable to keep his voice calm.

She furrows her brow. “What?”

He releases her wrist and takes a deep breath. Calmer this time, he says, “Please, Clarke. Tell me you didn’t eat that.”

“No. I didn’t eat it,” she says, clearly confused. “Bellamy, what’s going on?”

Bellamy closes his eyes and breathes a sigh of relief. When he opens them, he find’s Clarke’s, deep and blue and shining, searching his.

“You can’t eat the food down here,” he says.

“Why not?” she asks. “I’ve eaten plenty of food down here.”

“You haven’t eaten food _from_ down here,” he clarifies. “If you eat the food of the Underworld, you can never leave.”

Clarke considers this. “Is that how you got stuck here?” she asks.

He still feels his heart racing in his chest, so he sits at the base of his throne, resting his arms across his knees and letting his head fall back against the chair. Clarke joins him, pulling her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs.

“No,” he finally says. “It’s not how I ended up here.”

“How did you?” she says, resting her cheek on her knees and looking at him through her lashes.

She looks beautiful like this, her hair falling in golden waves over her shoulders, her eyes the only brightness in the dim lighting of the throne room. It’s startling, how much he wants to reach out and tuck a stray wave behind her ear, to feel her soft porcelain skin under his fingertips.

“I made a deal with Jaha,” he tells her. “To save my sister.”

 “Jaha is a trickster.”

“I know,” he says, huffing a laugh. “But I didn’t have any other options. I was born a mortal, and I didn’t exactly have a lot of pull amongst the Gods.”

She smiles at this, and Bellamy feels dizzy. “How did your deal get you stuck in Hades?”

“Apparently, the Underworld needed housekeeping,” he says, and she laughs. It’s the best thing he’s ever heard. “Someone had to do it. I sold my soul, but my sister is alive, and I’m still here to see her when she has the time.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at him. “That’s a terrible trade,” she says. “Jaha has been known to grant immortality for less.”

He shrugs. “I’d do it again,” he says, and he means it.

Clarke looks him over, like she’s studying him, and he feels self-conscious under her gaze. After a moment, her eyes flit away, and he swears he sees a blush creep up her neck.

“I thought you were going to yell at me for sitting in your chair, you know,” she says, breaking the moment.

He snorts. “It’s a throne, first off, get it right,” he says, and she giggles. “But no, I don’t care. It’s not even comfortable. Sit all you want.”

She laughs again as she stands. “Goodnight, Bellamy,” she says, soft, and then she’s disappearing down the hallway.

Bellamy remains sitting in front of the throne, playing the sound of her laugh over and over in his head.

 

“So,” Murphy drawls, popping a berry into his mouth. “The girl?”

Clarke has retired to her room for the night, leaving Bellamy and his henchman alone for dinner.

“Clarke,” Bellamy grunts. “Her name is Clarke.”

“You like her.” It’s not a question.

Bellamy scoffs, and glares at Miller when he sees him stifle a laugh. “I don’t like her,” he says.

It’s a lie.

He most definitely likes Clarke. She’s bright and funny and it makes his heart feel full in his chest. She’s taken pretty well to literally living in hell, and he sometimes can’t help but think about what it would be like to have her here all the time.

“I’m just saying,” Murphy continues. “If she’s here, you might as well reap the benefits.”

Bellamy scowls. “Shut up, Murphy.”

 

Clarke has been trapped in the Underworld for almost three months when Miller comes back with word from her mother.

“She’s pissed,” Miller says. “And that’s putting it lightly.”

Bellamy grunts, but doesn’t look up from his dinner. It’s not like he has any control as to when Clarke can leave.

The selfish part of him hopes that maybe she doesn’t want to.

Clarke brings life to the Underworld. It’s always softer, brighter, whenever she’s in the room. The souls are calmer too, like all this time all they needed was a little light and warmth.

She spends a lot of her time in the Asphodel Meadows with the average souls. It’s not Bellamy’s favorite part of the Underworld, but he finds himself spending more and more time there, because of Clarke. Meadow is a misleading name for the place—the grass there is dried up and patchy, and there is no asphodel in sight. But where Clarke sits cross-legged on the ground, the grass is green and lush.

After he talks with Miller, Bellamy plops down next to her, and Clarke puts down the book she was reading.

“Your mother is convening a council,” he says, cutting to the chase. “She’s pretty unhappy about the whole Underworld thing.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Of course she is.”

Bellamy nudges her with his elbow. “She loves you. She just wants you to come home.”

“I know that,” she sighs, but it’s sad. “But she’s a God. She can come and go as she pleases and she hasn’t even come to visit me.”

“It’s not like the Underworld is a place people _want_ to go, Clarke,” Bellamy huffs. “Most people don’t come here unless they have to.”

Clarke frowns and furrows her brow, like she’s been personally offended.

Bellamy snorts, lips turning up into a smile at her expression. “Is that surprising to you?”

“Kind of,” she says. “I like it here, Bellamy.”

It nearly knocks the breath out of his lungs.

It must show on his face, because it’s her turn to laugh. “Is that _surprising_ to you?” she mocks. When he doesn’t say anything, she shrugs. “It’s quiet, the food is good, the souls are interesting,” she looks him in the eyes, “I like the company.”

Bellamy doesn’t know what to say. All he can manage is a choked, “Clarke.”

She smiles softly, and then a flower is growing at her fingertips. He watches in awe as she creates life in the realm of the dead, fingers moving with practiced ease, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

The flower is greyish-yellow, and it’s not the prettiest flower he’s seen Clarke grow. She offers it to him, and he hesitates, but he lets her put it in his hand. He expects it to wither as soon as he touches it—life only exists down here for Clarke—but to his surprise, it remains soft and cool under his fingers.

“It’s asphodel,” she says. “I figure this place should have some, since it’s in the name and all.”

Bellamy swallows. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. He glances back at Clarke, and she’s so close, it occurs to him that it wouldn’t be that hard for him to lean forward and kiss her.

He doesn’t, though, because this is Hades and all there is in Hades is death and despair. She doesn’t belong here, and no matter how much her presence pulls at him, no matter how much he wants her, he can never have her. He could never keep her.

“I’ll send Jasper with word to your mother tomorrow morning,” he says once he’s found his voice again. “Maybe they can find a way to get you out of here.”

Clarke sighs and nods. “Thanks, Bellamy,” she says, and she presses her lips to his cheek, lingering just a second longer than he expects.

The flower stays alive in his hands for all of five minutes after she’s gone.

 

Jasper is even less helpful than Miller after a trip to the Upperworld.

“Uh, I don’t really have any information,” he stutters, “but the Upperworld is definitely dying.”

When Bellamy looks through his portal, only the second time since he’s lived in Hades, Jasper is right. The fields are barren and black, the trees are withering and naked. The whole scene is frighteningly dead.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, so, Abby Griffin is really pissed.”

Bellamy sighs. “Thanks, Jasper.”

Jasper leaves him alone in his quarters, and he braces his arms on his desk, trying to keep his composure. Once he feels like he can breathe, he marches to Clarke’s room.

She opens the door after the first knock. She’s a little disheveled, hair wild around her face, but—she’s beautiful.

“Clarke,” Bellamy starts, before he can change his mind. “We have to find a way to get you out of here.”

The smile on her face—the one from seeing him at her door, he reminds himself—disappears from her face. “What? What’s going on?”

“Your mom—the Upperworld—it’s dying.”

She doesn’t say anything, just stands there with her mouth hanging open, and Bellamy wants to badly to wrap her up in his arms and never let her go.

“We have to get you out of here.” He grabs her hand and starts down the hall, but she pulls him back.

“Bellamy—“

“I can see if Octavia can help. She knows a powerful God—Lincoln—and he’d be willing to help us, I think. If not I can try Jaha again, I don’t have much to offer but—“

“Bellamy!” Clarke grips his biceps. His hands travel up her arms instinctively. “You don’t have to go to any Gods.”

“Clarke,” he says, dropping his voice. “Let me help.”

“You can’t,” she says, and it breaks his heart.

“Please,” he says, voice hardly above a whisper. His hands cup her jaw. “This is my fault. Let me fix it.”

“Bellamy, the door opened for me almost two months back. I’ve been free to go for months.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “What? How?”

“I don’t know,” she says, fisting her hands in his shirt and pulling so they’re almost completely pressed together. “I just knew I didn’t want to leave.”

He kisses her then, backing her up until the hit the wall. She kisses him back with equal force, never one to let herself be outdone.

When they finally come up for air, Bellamy rests his forehead against Clarke’s.

“You have to go home,” he says, even though it pains him to do so.

“I know,” she whispers, and she kisses him again. “But I’ll be back.”

**Author's Note:**

> I left this open ended because I was _thinkinggggg_ of adding a part 2? Thoughts? Concerns? Anyone?


End file.
